


in this world full of people there's one killing me

by usoverlooked



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usoverlooked/pseuds/usoverlooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m guessing this is over Lydia again? Look, I’m going to make it plain here. You’re an idiot." (or Stiles, ladies and figuring things out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in this world full of people there's one killing me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecivilunrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecivilunrest/gifts).



> For Dicey, who deserves better than this, though I'm not sure I'm capable of it. And sooner than this because her birthday was too long ago. Love you, geek.

now.

If people were forces of nature, Lydia would be a typhoon. Or a hurricane. Or something similarly violent that left destruction in its path. Stiles realizes this when he is nineteen and standing on the outskirts of his first college party, one hand holding a cell phone to his ear and the other holding a red cup. Swallowing, he drops the phone to his pocket and swigs some of the drink back.

“You seem overjoyed to be here,” Erica grabs the cup from Stiles as she speaks. He could protest – maybe even _should_ protest, but instead shrugs. The werewolf snorts and drinks. “I’m guessing this is over Lydia again?”

* * *

 

then – pt i.

The pack ends up god-knows-where on Homecoming night. So when Stiles finally gets to the dance – which, okay, he knows it’s going to be lame, but it’s tradition and he doesn’t want to go home yet – it’s about two-thirds over. So when Stiles finds Lydia Martin standing on the outskirts of it, toying with the hem of her dress, he’s surprised.

“Do I need to give you another rousing speech?” Stiles regrets the words as soon as she looks up. A glare dances across her face before she manages a wry smile. He chuckles, hands fluttering at his sides. “I…er, I mean, do I need a speech or can I just ask you to dance with me?”

“Can you even dance?” Lydia scoffs, quirking an eyebrow. It’s as if his lanky limbs offend her, the way she looks at them. He nods, too fast and jerkily, but she grabs his sleeve and tugs him out to the dance floor.

Stiles is, admittedly, a fairly bad dancer. However, he quickly realizes that if he plays it up – feet jerking out to the sides, an odd finger pointing motion that would have been rejected in the ‘70s – Lydia at least smiles. It’s this smile he knows well – established more by the crinkle that forms between her brows than her mouth.  In the back of his mind, Stiles knows this bit will wear thin quickly. But as luck or fate or timing has it, the song changes.  A slower song begins and Lydia’s face freezes. She seems to internally debate it before grabbing Stiles shoulder and pulling him to dance with her.

“Stiles?” She asks, softly. He nods, his chin bumping her hair. It’s an apology he expects, though he shouldn’t. Lydia pulls back from him and looks up, turning her head before speaking.

“You should wear purple more. It’s a bold color.”

* * *

 

then - pt ii.

Prom sneaks up on the pack – Danny’s the only one with a tux a week prior. So when Stiles tumbles through the streamers and runs into a tearful Lydia, he tries not to be surprised. Jackson, curse his pompous ass, is probably out training with Derek – some new beast was spotted last week in the woods. Lydia fumbles for words, trying to duck around him before he grabs her by her elbows. She startles, looks up at him.

“C’mon, Lyds. We gotta dance together, it’s basically tradition now,” Stiles says. Lydia merely looks at him, a smile playing in her eyes before it ever reaches her lips.

“A purple vest?” She asks, running a finger over it. He shrugs as the smile stretches to her lips. The hand on his vest tightens around it. “Well, let’s go dance then.”

* * *

 

now (again).

“I just… I really thought that this would be the time, y’know?” Stiles stammers on, fully aware that Erica doesn’t care – yet unable to stop the words from spilling out. Next to him, the blonde finally clamps a hand onto his arm, claws drawn.

“Look, I’m going to make it plain here. You’re an idiot,” Erica grins around the words, though there’s no humor in her statement. She looks downright fearsome – anger glowing in her eyes. Stiles stares at her questioningly and she laughs. “For Chrissakes Stiles, Lydia Martin wasn’t the only girl at Beacon Hills. And she isn’t the only girl here!”

As Stiles gapes at the girl, she releases his arm and pushes past him. It takes Stiles a moment to realize what she means – who she means – but when he does, he’s kicking himself.

* * *

 

then (again) – pt i.

“Is it going to scar?” Erica asks, voice half-hopeful and half-fearful. Stiles shrugs as he smooths the oversized bandage across her shoulder, fully aware she’s keeping track of his actions in the mirror. He looks up to find her eyes – the rest of her face drawn tight and nervous.

“You’ll look great either way, Erica. I mean, Cass Cain had a ton of scars and was still totally kickass and doable,” Stiles looks up at her in the mirror, flashes a smile. Erica bites her lip, a grin forming around it regardless. Taking the opportunity, Stiles begins to blather on about how Cass was the second greatest Batgirl (Stephanie was first – the pair had already decreed that long ago, a discussion that had led to Jackson dismissively muttering ‘geeks’ at them everytime he walked by) and definitely the hottest. Not the prettiest, but the one most likely to make all the Bat guys uncomfortable. The entirely monologue was about seventy-percent actual belief and thirty-percent his mouth running faster than the rest of him.

“Are you going to go to homecoming?” Erica asks as he finishes up a claim. Stiles startles, looks down at his phone to check the time. Upon realizing how late it is, he hops up, nearly knocking Erica over.

“Sorry, I got…Thanks! I didn’t realize that time had-“

“Stiles? Thanks for…” Erica finishes her interruption with a shrug. She’s like that sometimes, Stiles has noticed, unable to fully admit to a moment of weakness. So he accepts the most thanks she can give, drops a kiss on her head and charges off to the dance.

* * *

 

then (again) – pt ii.

Stiles plays with his bowtie, practicing smiles in the mirror. His gut twists at the shock of purple vest under the tuxedo jacket. It’s for Lydia, of course, but he wonders if she’ll even notice. It’s not like it was a year ago, where she knew his name and his best friend and little else. Now they study together, are friends if he’s being generous. But he also knows that for him something else runs just beneath the surface. Neither of them speak of it – the way he looks at her like she’s the sun and he’s Pluto, just glad to be anything to her.

“You look nice,” Erica’s voice breaks his thoughts. He turns to see her – hair pinned up and makeup done nicely. Her dress is lacy and black, all va-voom and dark thoughts in the head of teen boys.

“Thanks. You look stunning. Also hot,” Stiles comments. Erica grins at the compliment, raises one shoulder in a shrug. A moment passes and Stiles is unsure why Erica looks so uncomfortable. He’s about to ask, the muscles in his jaw working even, before she answers the unasked question herself.

“Purple for Lydia?” She asks, swallowing rather heavily after the statement. Stiles nods, one side of his mouth quirked in an awkward smile. Erica grins, though it doesn’t meet her eyes. “That’s sweet of you.”

She has to walk past him to get to her car – or more accurately Boyd’s car, the three baby wolves are going together – and as she does, he grabs her arm. It’s almost reflex, a thoughtless action against her leaving. He stammers an apology and drops his hand, though Erica seems unoffended. Instead she leans closer to him, kisses his cheek and goes past him. If she notices the way his hand raises to the cheek she pecked, she gives no indication as she walks out the door.

* * *

 

now (again) (finally).

“I _am_ an idiot,” Stiles shouts. Ahead of him, several girls turn to face him – one redhead even bursts into laughter. But the girl he’s shouting to merely walks on, down the darkened road of the campus. Stiles groans, having already chased her for nearly four (long) blocks, but quickens into a run regardless.

“D’you think it’s that easy? You just realize that I’ve been…standing in the shadows and you can just pick me up whenever you please?” Erica spins on her heel as he get close and he nearly runs into her. He stops short, breathing heavily and staring at her.

“You get me. I didn’t… I’m sorry, I should’ve-“

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Erica interrupts, eyes rolling and arms crossed. Stiles holds out his hands – an unspoken request to let him finish.

“Look, I was wrong, okay? You aren’t Black Bat, you’re Stephanie Brown. And I’m… I’d be Damian! If you’d let me,” Stiles finishes. He claps his hands together nervously as Erica simply stares at him.

“I was in lo- _like_ with you for three years and you spent that entire time mooning over someone else. You have to make that up to me,” Erica’s comment is half-joke, but her eyes speak more. He knows what she’s scared of, what she won’t say. He nods, chipper.

“I’m not going to ditch you for her. If I do you can kick my ass,” Stiles says simply. At this, finally, Erica smiles. She nods, a laugh escaping her like air from a deflated balloon. It’s sweet and melodic and all the okay Stiles needs. He steps into her space, wraps a hand around her neck. He kisses her.

* * *

 

someday (always).

Erica always sings to pop music in the shower. She leaves her pants inside out on desk chairs and eats all the bananas before Stiles even has a chance at them. But she also buys good beer and comics and finds the best drinking games for Marvel movies.

If people were forces of nature, Erica would be a torrential rain storm. Powerful and loud and a little frightening, but needed. Stiles realizes this when he is twenty-three, standing in a jewelry store, picking up a box with a promise in it. He swallows hard, drops the velvet box in his pocket and tries to figure out how to ask a really big question.


End file.
